


the first and the last

by hesperia (erythea)



Category: Fate/Grand Order
Genre: Drunk Sex, F/M, are they in a relationship? no one knows, they call each other master-chan and hajime-chan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2020-12-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:54:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27960353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erythea/pseuds/hesperia
Summary: Saitou and Ritsuka drink, but Ritsuka isnotdrunk. She'll prove it.“How's he funner, huh? Hajime-cha — uh, Saito Hajime, I mean. What's he got that Fujita Goro doesn't?”Ritsuka chuckles as she scoots closer. "Well first, he'd let me drink all the sake we've got."Saito pointedly raises all the empty bottles they have.
Relationships: Saitou Hajime | Saber/Fujimaru Ritsuka
Comments: 5
Kudos: 28





	the first and the last

**Author's Note:**

  * For [morningjosei](https://archiveofourown.org/users/morningjosei/gifts).



> Commission for Josei. She wanted Saitou/Ritsuka PWP with some banter and teasing. I like Hajime-chan a lot oh no. One day I'll write a longer fic about him...

Fujimaru Ritsuka has lost count of the bottles of sake she’s emptied, but Saito Hajime hasn’t. It’s her third, and the pink glow of her cheeks tells him she's had one drink too many.

“Look, Ritsuka-chan,” says Saito as he switches her drink with something nonalcoholic, “just 'cause you do this with certain manslayers doesn't mean you gotta do it all the time.”

“Fujita Goro, you buzzkill,” Ritsuka teases when she takes a swig of water and can't tell the difference. “Tell me when Hajime-chan's back! He's so much funner than you or Vice-Commander Pickles.”

Saitou winces. Ritsuka almost sobers. They're in her room, sitting on her floor, but he doesn't leave. Instead, he starts cleaning up. Yamanami always makes him clean up. It's not a habit. It’s how he keeps some things alive.

“Fujita Goro, eh? That's a name I haven't heard in a while.”

His thoughts are distant. They travel to a time where the only sword on the streets was his, and samurai and Shinsengumi were words people had already begun to forget. He, too, wanted to forget. It was the only way he could stay sober.

“Hajime-chan?” Ritsuka's small voice brings him back. She looks up at him and tries to find the glint in his eyes, her own wide with worry.

Saito forces a laugh and shakes his head.

“Your brain's filled with shonen manga again. Me, serious? Fujita Goro and Saito Hajime are two different people, but they’re pretty much the same guy.”

“You're making my head hurt, Goro-chan.”

“Goro-chan?!”

Ritsuka pretends to get a headache, all playful and full of charm, and Saito laughs. She gets it. She wouldn't be calling him that now if she didn't.

“How's he funner, huh? Hajime-cha — uh, Saito Hajime, I mean. What's he got that Fujita Goro doesn't?”

Ritsuka chuckles as she scoots closer. "Well first, he'd let me drink all the sake we've got."

Saito pointedly raises all the empty bottles they have.

“Then, he'd tell me all his embarrassing stories about the Shinsengumi,” Ritsuka says with stars in her eyes. “About Hijikata-san, Nagakura-san — Yamanami-san and Serizawa-san, too!”

Saito sets the bottles aside. “You don't wanna hear stories about me?”

“If I wanted to do that, I'd just ask Okita-chan.”

Saito scratches his head as he wonders how much dango it takes for Okita to shut up. “Man, I gotta talk to her later.”

Saito drags a hand down his face, and Ritsuka laughs. He likes it when she laughs. It reminds him of wooden swords, weekday lessons, and snacks in the afternoon, when the world was small and in their hands. He knows the truth is always far from that, but she laughs, shoulders shaking and cheeks sanguine, and in that moment he thinks it's a simple sound. A pretty sound.

He's always lived in the moment.

“Lucky for you, we're both feeling a little tipsy. Talk to me long enough and you might get one.”

“ _You're _ tipsy?” Ritsuka asks with wide eyes and a hint of doubt.

“That I am,” says Saito, who pokes at her forehead, “and so are you.”

“I'm not drunk!” Ritsuka nudges him with her entire shoulder, doing her best not to sway from side to side. The girl is red to her ears and Saito holds her steady, muttering something about drinking too much and worrying too little. She gives him the chance to study her profile: amber eyes, flaming hair, and the way her lips part and laugh despite all the years she’s lost to this: Chaldea, the fight, and all that it stands for. Chaldea’s only been around for as long as the Shinsengumi, but among Kondo’s men, Saito’s never seen someone so beautiful for being wiser.

She looks up at him and grins, and Saito’s lips part at how she can be so close to him, her eyes still full of mischief.

“If I were drunk,” she tells him like it’s a secret, “I'd be doing something crazy by now.”

“Yeah?” He tries to place some distance between them, but she presses her bosom against his arm and her words make his mind wander. “I got a feeling you do more of that when you're sober.”

“If I were drunk,” the girl begins, her voice a hot whisper louder than any word they've ever spoken. “I don't think Fujita Goro would let me get away with it.”

Saito swallows.

The girl is no longer a girl. She heaves a sigh as she undoes the clasps of her black shirt, her flushed chest rising and falling as clothes slip off slim, scarred shoulders. Saito thinks he should stop her, but what is he to her? A blade? A man? She pushes him down because he lets her, and all he registers are the thin straps of her undershirt and the scent of a woman.

“You're making a lot of assumptions there, Ritsuka-chan,” he gasps, trying to make sense of this. “First of all, I don't wanna die—”

But her lips catch his words before they escape him. Her lips are soft. They taste him, hungry and aimless, not knowing how to give what she desperately wants. Saito teaches her. He runs his fingers through her hair and rubs the back of her neck, showing her what they can do when the fight is over, and he thinks he understands. He doesn’t think about the hows or whys. Back then, his men never knew who got to see the sunrise. Ritsuka knows people who never did.

The same Ritsuka moans into Saito’s kiss and grinds against his hips, guiding his hands underneath her clothes to tell him where she likes it. He already knows. His fingers trace places his blade would cut clean and she says his name like it’s the start of a good thing.

He gets greedy.

He lifts her shirt and takes a bare breast into his mouth, the wet smack of his lips loud in his ears each time he sucks. She shudders and moans, clinging to him as her hips roll harder for more, and it makes him want her to want it. His mouth sucks and pulls on her tender nipples, spit coating her flesh and dribbling down his chin. Rough hands glide up the smooth arc of her back, and she tugs his hair as her nipples harden against his warm, wet tongue.

“Hajime-chan,” she pleads between mewls of pleasure, drooling at the corners of her lips, “more. Stop, no. Please—”

He laughs, the low sound tickling her flushed skin. ”Which is it, Master-chan? You better make up your mind soon. I'm just here to enjoy the view.”

Her answer melts when his lips ease it out of her, drawing gasps as he flicks a nipple and tugs it with his lips. Ritsuka whimpers for more, and her back hits the floor so Saito can take her by the tongue. He slips his hand past the fabric of her skirt, his fingers working her loose and wet.

“Would Fujita Goro do this for you, Ritsuka-chan?” he asks, his voice like a haze. “Fuck your cunt and make you come?”

“No,” she rasps, smiling through the waves of pleasure and scent of sex, “but Hajime-chan hasn’t fucked me, either.”

Ritsuka tugs his tie and pulls Saito back on her mouth, sucking on his tongue and swallowing every flavor and wanton sound. Nails dig into his sleeve. Sweat trickles down his neck. He grunts, drinking in the kiss. His fingers pump into her fast and hard. It’s hard to breathe. She kicks her panties off her knees. The shape of his cock under his pants brushes against her skin, and she bucks her hips — she needs it. He builds the pleasure up inside her, first twisting her up, then arching her taut, drawing out a sweet cry and a trembling in her thighs. Her walls pulsating around his digits, and her hands keep them there to help her savor the feeling.

Then, their mouths part. Strings of silver stretch between their lips and break. Ritsuka cries out when Saito’s fingers slide out of her, raw and empty. Saito licks his lips at the sight he’s made, Ritsuka wet and red and humming in delight. He sucks in a breath and starts to undress — something tells him he’ll never see this again. He’s no Hijikata, used to the warmth of another body because others love it. Saito knows where he stands. He kneels between Ritsuka’s thighs because she asks for it. He just happens to want it.

Ritsuka sighs at the clink of Saito’s belt, takes off her top, and spreads her lips, glistening with slick and sweat.

“Hurry, Hajime,” she rasps, eyes trained on the way he strokes himself, his hand drenched in the taste of her, "Don’t make me wait.”

Saito pulls her legs over his shoulders, and she giggles in pleasant surprise. “Haha. Wasn’t planning to, Ritsuka.”

He sinks his cock into her folds, and her voice pours out of her mouth. Her walls are tight and wet, cream dripping from the soft rim of her entrance. She looks at him blearily through the lust and sweat, tugs at his open shirt. He knows he shouldn’t trust the alcohol but she laughs like she’s embarrassed, like she’s never done this before, like she’s _happy,_ and his heart soars. People say his name in the dark, but not like this. He makes her take him to the hilt and she says his name like the light of the moon long after the sun has set, trying.

“You don’t have to be nice to me,” he breathes on her chest, his smile crooked and wry.

Ritsuka laughs.

“I’m not being kind,” she says, the fond look in her eyes unfaltering, “and so are you.”

Ritsuka steals another kiss, Saito presses her legs down, and the honest sound of his name leaves her lips as he meets her body over and over. Through the night, her cries are desperate, sometimes even seething through thin air and clenched teeth, pleasure and pain a blur as the heat of it drips sweetly down her thighs. He’s desperate, too, for the sensation that keeps their pace frantic as they seek sweat and release. They use each other, skin against shameless skin like they won’t see each other in the morning. It doesn’t bother him. Among the wolves of Mibu, Saito Hajime is the best at leaving.

But Fujita Goro never learned how to forget.

Saito comes, their voices burning against each other’s ears, and heat spills out of her, slow and hot. She’s about to tell him something important, he thinks, so he kisses her before she can etch herself into his memories.

But she manages.

“See?” Ritsuka pants, “I’m not drunk.”

Saito chokes on his laughter.

“Well, Master-chan,” he says as he sits up and runs a hand through his hair. “I might be sobering up myself.”

Ritsuka sits up with him, but never truly stays away. She crawls toward him like a cat, her wrinkled skirt clinging to her waist. “I don’t think this counts, though.”

“What? You mean my story?” He snorts, trying to stifle the sound of his heart. “Nah. Guess you didn’t get one today.”

“That’s okay.” Ritsuka straddles his hips. “Does Saito Hajime want to go again? Should we let Fujita Goro have a turn?”

“Isn’t Fujimaru Ritsuka tired?” Saito sighs, brushing locks of hair away from her eyes.

“Of you?” Ritsuka smiles as she greets him with a face as sanguine as the blush of dawn. “Never.”


End file.
